Meg's Friend

nd weatherbeaten to a dirty gray; the lower windows were tawdry with vulgar blinds and curtains, and enlivened with green boxes full of a few pining flowers. The drawing-ro

ndeur and present decay. The hall was wide, dingy, and unfurn

ning in the lock, and the sound of footsteps in the hall. Then the mute little figure would grow full of sudden life; the little feet would run down faster than eye could mark. Arrived in the hall, the child would

here have you be

g-at work al

en to the parlor

t set my foo

with those horrid w

one of t

e child would say, taking

nd was correspondent to a colonial journal. His straight-featured countenance expressed energy and decision; his

madic population sheltering under that decaying roof who lived among his household gods. He had made it a stipulation,

afternoon. In the intervals she sat on the topmost stair, watching the social eddies of the shabby miniature world breaking down below. She was a silent child, with a mop of dark brown hair and gray eyes, the gaze of which was so sustained as not to be always plea

of age, she had suddenly asked the old servant, who from time immemorial had be

had you

lly, almost losing hold of the plat

y?" persisted Meg, with del

answered the old woma

a slight tremor perceptible in the slo

which she had been tau

d if you ask any more questions y

fect of silence. She stood, with her glance unflinchingly directed on Tilly's face, and wit

accepted a childhood without kissings and pettings-a snubbed, ignore

shared with the child, she was startled by Meg's voice sounding close to her ear,

locking me up in the dark closet, if

illy, taken o

nt's pause, and

ver," resumed the child's voice, "if y

if I tell ye?" replied Tilly afte

Til

other? Do

" repeated the

w as I told you?" said Tilly ex

ev

as as pretty as a picture as I ever saw, and the gentlest, sweetest, la

?" sa

r; and the man as let her die here all alone was

ked the child,

Tilly severely,

who had seen and heard strange th

y. "You promised as you'd

, turning away, and returning

and never alluded to th

at she had found among the litter. It represented a simpering young woman in a white ball dress, decked with roses. Permission having been granted her to appropriate the work of art, Meg carried it up to her attic, and hid it away in a box. Ha

liam Standish to the lodging-house. It had occurred nearly two years after t

; and she had listened, fascinated, to his lusty voice, singing to the a

cowering in the dusk, and had once or twice given to it a friendly n

aterials, pipes, and prints on all sides, and of an

her name, and gave a succinct account of her general mode of life. She admitted, with monosyllabic brevity, that she liked to hear h

e was

ght she

allad with a spirited re

he told her that he wrote for the papers; and was dumb with amazement when h

the silence set upon her lips, and spoke to her new

has left on earth, and till cock-crow rocks the cradle of her sleeping baby. The young man was astonished at t

ome just like that to

s she dead?" h

r. I'd love to see her just a-coming and stan

know she was your mother," he replied, impre

e child, with vivid assurance. "Soon as s

ed. "How do you kno

conviction. "That's how I know she was a lady," Meg resumed; "and I know what a lady is. The Misses Grantums down there"-infusing scorn into her voice as she pointed to the floor to indicate she meant lodgers who lived below-"they're not ladies though they've fine dresses; but they have loud voices, and they scold. I go to the corners of

ing that at last he was appro

ed up in tissue paper, and gently drew out a limp picture, that she hel

nd those beautiful curls, are they not lovely? and those la

er tips," he pleaded, as the child je

shed it to him and

en out of a book-not

I found it in a corner. Isn't it lovely? I'm

ve past, and nursing those queer, foolish, ambitious ideas about her mother was not likely to lead to any good. He thought the whole story was probably without

s not to hurt, yet deeming it incumben

s not the pretty dress that makes the lady, or the face either. Is it not far better and more reasonable to think of that dear mother, whom you never saw, as one of God's own ladies? These ladi

in its coverings. "Jessie's good, and so was Tilly. They work hard, and scrub, and run about on errands. They're not ladies. A lady's quite different," continued Meg, suddenly facing him and speaking with vehemence and clearness. "She's rich, and never scolds or cheats. She does not work

ou are talking very foolishly. A lady is, indeed, not necessarily an angel. You say a lady must be rich. Now, if your m

child, growing a little pale, and beginning

like your mother; and you cannot grow up good and hard-working and honest if you think

fault," said t

oolish idea. Call up your mother to your mind as a good, toiling woman; one of God's ladies, as I cal

and upright, clutching the fashion-plate close u

tandish's lips. It was the first offe

ing the fluttering litt

ic; he heard the door s

called aga

nd of passionate sobbing. He waited, called a third time, and r

e next few days he had no time to think of Meg. He noticed that the corner

essie, the hard-worked slavey of the establishment, admitted when she came up with the coal-scuttle, in answer to Mr. Standish's inquiries concern

weekly budget he was writing for the Melbourne Banner, to see

tepped up to the rescue. He caught one boy by the ear, rolled another in the dust, and generally dispersed the assailants on all sides. Meg waited, watching, on the outskirts of the fray; but as

concerning her mother, she gave a rambling account of a mysterious lady who had come to the lodgings accompanied by an older

ugh a lawyer-just enough to pay for Meg's clothing and sch

o him an indistinct realization of what the thought of a lady-mother had been to the child in her sordid su

ur mother was a lady, just as you thought she was. I have heard all about her. W

.

er awhile he began to sing some of Meg's favorite melodies-"Sally in the Alley" and "Margery Allen." He thought he heard a furtive step

e was

ght she

was unkempt, her dress untidy, her cheeks pale; but it was not so much those signs of neglect, the pallor of her cheeks, the drawn lines about her mouth that startled him, as a certain expression of child

tten here, or is it a pack of

said Mr. Standish gen

about in the carriages?" asked the

oft hands that had never done rough work, and a gentle voice. All abou

tension about her lips relaxed; the fierce bri

now?" she ask

ill take you to her, and

tell me, you tell m

tory Mrs. Browne had related. It was a mercy Meg evinced no curiosity concerning her father. Mr. Standish dwelt upon the beauty,

ust itself before him with a new and piteous force. The tho

uched his. "You asked me in your letter to f

rget also, Meg, that I said your moth

ers; that's what you said," replied Meg, with a

," he continued, as the child remained apparently unsoftened, "will

en, as she met his troubled glance, the doubt p

believe you very

injury-had made her suffer, more than you can know. That is why she came h

and seemed a little dazed; but t

he repeated

d's boso

young man, "I believe that dear moth

e it," said

sh. "But, come; where is that p

int was torn and besmeared, as if it had gone

. It was not so crumpled and t

ing, like a charwoman. I wanted to tear it up-I did; but I could not." She stopped;

ing it upon a pasteboard back. He gathered the necessary implements for the task. Meg, usually so active, watched in silence; but he knew, by the trembling of the littl

p of this simpering fetish, with a mouth like a cherry, and curled eyelashes; but as he handled the old fashion-plate, the pathos of its smeared and battered condition touched him with a sense

the sight of Meg's radiant countenance. In perf